


The Lost Slipper

by cheeky_geek_m0nkey



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Princess AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5221715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheeky_geek_m0nkey/pseuds/cheeky_geek_m0nkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone asked for a Cinderella AU, and I provided.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The ball was a royal pain in her ass, no pun intended. She’d expressed that several times over throughout the planning process of it all - in between dress-fittings or throughout the food tastings - every time being greeted by the same pair of rolled eyes that matched her own and the reminder that, “You’re a princess. You need a prince. This ball, if planned the right way, will give you just that.” 

It was the refrain that was thrown at her several times a day, everyday since she was born. “You’re a princess,” the chant went, “You mustn’t yawn. You mustn’t sneak into the grand ballroom to play the instruments. You mustn’t eat with your mouth full. You mustn’t talk too much with the servant boys.” 

And, over the years, she realized that fighting this refrain was futile. She couldn’t argue the main fact of the sentiment - she  _was_ a princess. It didn’t matter how stifled she felt, or how hard it was to walk toe-to-heel along the line that was expected of her. It didn’t matter that the only time she felt safe was when she was hiding in the kitchen cupboard with Jesse or playing the piano on the rare occasion her stick-in-the-ass tutor didn’t show up. She was a princess. She had a duty. 

And it was all reaching its pinnacle with this goddamned ball, where she would make the first step from princess to queen, or, at least, wife of king. 

She had a feeling, though, as she was being pushed and pulled into a corset that was entirely too tight - even by the standards of the queen - that the refrain was going to get worse with the change in title. Which was only one half of the reason why she was dreading the source of the chaos downstairs. 

The other half being that she hated dresses, hated dancing, and mostly importantly wasn’t particularly looking forward to having to chat with the most grey men about how many  _horses_ they have and pretending like it all wasn’t a euphemism for something less…acknowledgable. 

Amy finished weaving the ribbon through her hair with a quiet smile, bumping the girl once with her hip. “You’ll be fine. Get in, get out. It worked for my parents, so it’ll work for this shindig.” 

“Gross,” Beca grumbled, tugging at one free curl so that it unfurled easily and added a look of quiet rebellion that only she would recognize. 

“Just sayin’, Shorty,” Amy said, shrugging. “You’ll survive. I was able to sneak a few cream puffs in through the ol’ bosom, and, if anything, at least you’ve got good food.” 

“Thanks, Ames,” Beca said. She stood up unsteadily. She was forced to wear heels until the moment the night’s curtains were drawn, and yet, she thought, she was  _never_ going to get used to them. 

“Maybe you’ll find a hottie with a nice feudalist body,” Amy said, and Beca snickered, watching her maidservant’s hands make their way to the doorknob. She was already regretting the moment that the door would be opened, and she’d have to see whatever crowd - or lack of a crowd…the fear of  _that_ nightmare was still clear in her mind - was standing there to greet her. 

“I  _doubt_ that’ll happen,” Beca said under her breath, standing up straighter in the doorway, “But I’m sure mother will.” 

“You betcha,” Amy answered, giving Beca a light slap on the bum. “Butt confidence for Your Highness,” she explained, to which Beca laughed nervously. “Off you go.” 

She was announced like she’d been announced at every ball or feast since she was thirteen years old - a half hour later than when the official occasion started, at the top of the grand staircase. Wait five seconds after the name is declared, then walk. That was the instructions. 

It always allowed for a moment of assessment. A moment that Beca had mastered to use as just enough time to judge just how she would be spending her night - whether she’d have to reach into the recesses of her mind that held obscure geographical information or discuss politics in such a roundabout way that no one got offended. On a good night, on the best night really, she would be able to spend her time dancing with an uncle who was a little handsy but overall innocent, or a cousin who was still eying the thrown. 

Tonight, she wasn’t entirely sure. The room full of men, accompanied by mothers or sisters or cousins, looked up at her with identical smiles. Prince Charmings, Beca thought. How…perfect for mother. 

Grimacing, she started descending the stairs, not making it to the bottom before one man took her hand and kissed the knuckles. She winced, trying to turn it into a smile, and bowed her head slightly to him. 

That’s how it went, and while the clock stationed on the wall told her only fifteen minutes had passed, her thighs were already sore from bowing, and she could feel that iron-coldness to her smile that meant she would only have to wait for a few more minutes before she said something “accidentally” offensive and be swerved away by mother or one of her women. 

“Biding your time, I see,” said a voice from behind Beca, the sound tinkling against the raucous laughter of the Duke she’d been talking to seconds earlier. 

“Oh, no,” Beca said, turning around quickly. “Just keeping track. Wouldn’t want to let anyone monopolize the princess’ schedule.” 

The girl staring at her was beautiful, her cheeks pink with shyness and her hair curled into an updo that Beca could only dream about. She was wearing a dress that matched her eyes - the color of the sky that Beca was never really able to explore…the sky that sat just over the gates of the castle. It made Beca gasp, and she hoped that it was just the result of a corset that was, as previously noted, entirely too tight. She also hoped that the other girl couldn’t hear her, but judging by the way the redhead smiled, her cheeks flushing more, Beca couldn’t be sure. 

“A travesty,” the redhead joked, her lips pursed into a smirk. “And what would that look like? Monopolizing your time?” 

“Oh, you know,” Beca said, stepping closer to the girl, “Wrapping me up in sugary conversation. Flattering me until I couldn’t stand. Picking me up off the dance floor….” 

“All seem like simple enough routes,” the woman said. She was picking at the glove that was reaching up to her elbow uncomfortably, as if she wasn’t used to wearing them. 

“Why, are you trying?” Beca asked, and the girl looked up, worried. Her mouth fell open as she took a step backwards. 

“What? No, no, I–” the woman shook her head, but Beca only grinned wider. “That’s not…I’m here with…well. That’s not why I’m here.” 

“Sure,” Beca nodded, her eyes knowing. The redhead seemed to shrink under her gaze, and Beca was accustomed to the feeling but with someone as glowing as this woman, it made her feel stronger. More powerful. She reached out to take the other girl’s hand, running her fingers over the indents in the knuckles. “That doesn’t mean I can’t interest you in a dance, though, right?” 

“I do love this song,” the girl admitted, and Beca took a step closer. 

“So do I,” she said. She put a hand on the other girl’s waist, pulling her quickly into the shadows of the corner of the room and gripping her hand to hers tighter. “My favorite.” 

“Me  _too_ ,” the girl squealed excitedly, and Beca’s smile was so wide and disbelieving that the woman squeaked, growing small again. 

“Don’t do that,” Beca whispered as her feet started to move to the beat. The other woman followed her, and they weaved outside the room quickly, avoiding the glances and glares of others easily. 

“Do what, Your Highness?” 

“First, call me Beca,” she said, fighting the urge to gag at the title. “Second, don’t be embarrassed. You’re stunning when you’re excited. It’s like…When bread is made just right, so it’s bright and fluffy. And then you poke it because you can’t wait to eat it, and–”

“It deflates,” the girl finished. Beca nodded. “I’ll stop. Or, I’ll try to.” 

“Perfect,” Beca said with a wink. The song was building now, so she turned the other woman quickly and without warning, resulting in a surprised sound on the other woman’s side and a rushed spin. When she closed it, she landed in Beca’s arms, giggling. “Because you are positively  _magical_.” 

In this side room, there was no clock. No means, at least, for knowing how long she’d spent spinning in the other girl’s arms. All she knew was that she couldn’t feel the throb in her feet, and that the room spun more than the woman’s face did, so that even when they stopped to catch their breath, Beca felt dizzy. Light-headed, at least, like she’d breathed in too much air and didn’t know what to do with it. The songs fit their bodies perfectly so that each step carried them to another note, and Beca always relished the feeling of that melody in her blood but now it was amplified so that she was humming, and then the other woman was too, with a smile that matched hers. 

She was going to be in trouble for this. That much, she knew. And she was close enough to the kitchen for Jesse to see, which meant that “trouble” would be accompanied by a punishment of endless mocking for the nerd that she was quickly morphing into in the vicinity of this beautiful woman. But she didn’t much care. For what seemed like the first time ever, she didn’t much care. 

So much so that she missed the ring of the eleven o’clock bell, and it was only when the thirty minute mark was reached that the other woman broke from her suddenly, eyes wide. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, holding her hands up. “I’m so so sorry.”

“Why’re y–”

But before she could get the question out, the woman had turned, beginning a race against some invisible force that was pushing her out of the room. “I have to go!” she shouted from behind her, and Beca, knowing fully that her voice would carry up the banisters so that at the very least the servants would hear her, shouted right back. 

“At least give me your name!” 

When she received no response, she did what she, accompanied by her maidservant Amy, promised she would never do. She ran, and ran, and ran - the cardio burning in her already tightened corset - until she found the only remnant left of the mystery woman who managed to wake her up from the fairy-tale she was drooling mindlessly within: a shoe, made of glass and shining as clearly and brightly as the woman’s face when she had realized with a teary eye what time it had gotten to be. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was silly, really, for her to have even gone. 

It’s not like she expected anything. She just wanted a night out, or a night off, or some variation thereof. She just wanted to feel….beautiful. And clean. Proper, for once, like she had a place among the people who  _had_ a place. 

It had been a night of magic even before she met the princess, but when Chloe thought back on the night as she watched the ceiling that night, she realized that she hadn’t  _felt_ magical until she was spinning with the hostess. She watched it happened - watched the pumpkin become the carriage, watched the rags become a dress - but she wasn’t ever a part of it until her hand met the princess’, and then she could feel it radiating from both them. 

She thought that maybe in that impossibly small instance of time, she experienced the magic of feeling like she had a place. She thought maybe the pressure of the other girl’s stare was special just because it was the pressure of  _anyone’s_ stare. But then she remembered what it felt like when she whispered something into her ear and made the other girl smile - she remembered what it felt like to make her blush - and realized with the kind of sinking hopelessness that comes from living your dreams that it wasn’t just being seen that made her feel magical. It was being seen  _by her_. 

The bittersweetness was enough to carry her through the next few days. Everytime she was brought down by the impossibility of having the princess even back in her line of sight, she remembered what the wind felt like when she twirled exactly the right way, and she was floating again. Her stepsisters would talk about the princess, judging the color of her dress or the way it fell on her body, and all Chloe could think was that they didn’t know what the fabric felt like beneath their fingers. They didn’t know what it was to watch the princess try to catch her breath in the corset, all flushed and warm and radiating something bigger than beautiful. Bigger than royalty. 

She thought that that’s what it was going to be for the rest of her life. A memory of the moment everything came true and everything became impossible all at the same time. If she had kids, she would tell them about her - about dancing with the princess and about the way the inside of the castle looked when you sneaked around the corners of the bannisters. She was able, over those next few days, to reconcile herself to that idea. It was hard, not in a way that stabbed but in a way that ached dully - precisely the way that could be pushed away until nighttime, and then experienced with that wave of a hand that said, “You’re just being silly anyway”. 

She was polishing the silver when she heard the woman’s voice again, and it was funny, how it seemed to echo in her ears even after all these days. She laughed bitterly to herself, thinking it was probably high time that she started to get more sleep. Daydreams would become  _actual_ dreams if she didn’t get the shut-eye she knew she needed. 

This time, though, seemed more real than all the others. And, it was silly, really, but she thought she could hear her sisters replying? With squeals and squeaks and excited chatter that somehow managed to make their voices  _more_ shrill. 

Her stepmother, too, holding this cool, cruel composure over the entire scene, and Chloe thought,  _is this…actually a scene at all?_

She tiptoed around the corner with a silver fork still in hand, peeking through the crack in the doorway to see her stepsisters stationed over one loveseat. The oldest, tallest, brunette was redder in the face than usual. Chloe had only seen that vein pop in her forehead the few times she forgot to take the stems off the strawberries they ate occasionally for breakfast. Her stepmother was watching from the edge of the room, one eyebrow raised and composure completely straight, but if Chloe looked close enough, she saw a touch of concern in her eyes. Or, maybe, suspense. 

Chloe pushed the door open a little more, recognizing what was very clearly not a typical scene, and that’s when she saw the attendant sitting on the footstool. He turned to face someone in the far corner of the room. 

“This is a no-go, Becaw,” he said, “And the last house in the kingdom, no less.” 

“You know, I  _love_ when you remind me how hopeless my quest is, Jess” said the voice from the corner. It was sharper than Chloe remembered, harsher, too, and a touch more exhausted. Chloe thought, before full recognition took place, that it was strange hearing the princess’ voice in anything louder than the whisper that she offered Chloe that night. 

“I mean, it’s just a shoe. I know these things are expensive, but I’m not sure returning it is really a big deal,” the attendant said, and Chloe almost laughed despite the situation because  the princess could be heard from all around the room groaning like an annoyed toddler. 

“That’s why I’m just so grateful you’re returning it to us,” said one of Chloe’s stepsisters. 

“Yeah, Mother would’ve hated to see all that money go to waste on a lost slipper.” 

Jesse covered his mouth to hide a chuckle, and it was that movement that enable Chloe to take a deeper breath. She didn’t know much in the way of manipulation, but she knew that these women were good at it - despite their appearances or the shrill sounds of their voices - and the danger that this woman would be fooled by any of the act was real. 

Only, Chloe liked to think that there was no similarities between herself and these girls, and so this entire scene was really transparent. Jesse’s laughter, aimed directly at the princess in the corner that Chloe couldn’t see, was enough to signal the acknowledged phoniness of it all. 

They were just having fun, then. 

Once Chloe could accept that as truth rather than placation, she realized the actual situation at hand. 

The princess. 

In her house. 

And her, standing here, apron messy with dust and hands smelling like cat food and chicken poop. Her hair tinged dark from the soot she cleaned out of the chimney this morning. 

“That’s it, then?” she heard Beca asked, a hopelessness entering her voice. “No one else in the house?” 

Chloe bit her lip, the sleeve of her dress being pulled to the point of ripping. All the women looked at one another, shaking their heads. 

“No one to test, no,” her step-mother said. Then, looking directly into the crack in the door, she said, “Certainly nothing presentable enough to show you.” 

Chloe swallowed whatever squeak of indignance that threatened to break through. Over the years, she had gotten good at that - good at fighting that part of her that liked to argue, or fight, until the point of the enemy’s surrender. Over the years, she had gotten good at making herself small. Better to do that then to stand in the way of others plans and opinions and goals, because the chance of being shoved into the wall after that was…high, to say the least. 

She hardly deserved the space she was taking up anyway, and, really, she only shrunk as time wore on. 

She thought again about that feeling of dancing, her feet moving so naturally, like she was the harmony to the princess’ melody, and there was something to that - something to having a place, to being somewhere with someone  _as_ someone. Silence and music didn’t mix, at least, not for long. 

She always liked music. Liked to sing, liked to hum. She thought that with the princess it kind of felt like she had a place in the entire song. 

Like she was more than just a short rest, something to pass and then continue without lingering. 

There was a risk to running that night, a risk to even showing up, and Chloe took that risk not because she wanted to feel beautiful, but because she knew that somewhere deep down she _could_ be. That possibility existed. 

She believed in herself. It wasn’t magic that made her be seen, it was herself. 

The princess saw that. She liked that, or, at least, Chloe thought she did. It made her smile, and making her smile was maybe the best thing Chloe had ever done in her life. 

So she saw Jesse start to stand with a slap of his thigh, and she pressed lightly on the door again, watching her stepmom’s eyes bug out. The door squeaked when it opened - she would have to oil the hinges again later - and it was certainly not the announcement that the princess had at the ball, but it was enough to draw the attention of the entire room. 

She knew her stepsisters for years. Almost a decade, actually, and her stepmom for just as long. But when she walked into the room, she felt safer addressing the woman standing in the corner - the woman she talked to for only a few hours one night. Sure, seeing her in broad daylight took away every power of speech from Chloe’s mind, because her eyes were bluer somehow and deeper and the rose tint to her cheeks was brighter. Still, she was safer, warmer, and more comfortable. It helped, too, that the princess was looking at her with this kind of electric recognition, spurring her on with her eyes, as if to say, “Please prove to me that it’s you, and that’s all you’ll need to do”. 

“Hey,” she said weakly, throwing out an awkward arm. The princess smiled back at her, hope growing in her grin, and Chloe thought that was really the only kind of cheerleading she needed to go up to her stepsisters and slip the shoe out of their hands. “They tend to forget about me.” 

The gasp that came from the gaggle of women actually made Chloe smile. It felt good. Better, really, than good, because it made her feel strong. It made her feel like she was matter - like she was existing and taking up a place here. She breathed in that feeling and turned back towards the princess, holding her hand out. “Keep me steady?” she asked, and the princess nodded in a way that was so clearly certain that Chloe couldn’t help but sigh. 

The shoe fit, and it fit so perfectly that Chloe remembered exactly how she felt the night she wore it. Like a princess, she thought. She felt like a princess. 

The other woman stood up then, and even though Chloe was standing on one high heel, she was still taller than her, so the princess was looking up to find her eyes, and when she did, she smiled wider than Chloe had seen thus far. 

“I found you,” the woman said. There was a watery gleam to her eyes, and though Jesse cleared his throat behind them, Chloe saw the active choice the princess made to ignore him. She put her hands on Chloe’s cheeks, running them back to lock behind her neck. “I found you.” 

“I let you,” Chloe answered with a light chuckle. She reached up, pushing one stray curl out of the princess’ face. “Not that that means very much.” 

“It does,” the woman said. “You…do…”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Chloe muttered, more to herself than anyone else, and that’s when the princess pulled her in tighter, so that her mouth was ghosting over Chloe’s ear. 

“Come back,” she said quietly, “With me. So that I can prove you wrong.” 

Chloe laughed, scared and hesitant but also tinkling in a way she hadn’t ever heard - or at least, in a way she hadn’t heard for a while. The princess continued, 

“Only on the condition, of course, that you don’t run next time…obviously.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts and whatnot over at flabbergasties.tumblr.com


End file.
